


For A Smile

by lanyon



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 00:58:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the events of "Thor", Clint Barton isn't quite sure whether it's better or worse to be assigned with Phil Coulson for a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For A Smile

Clint Barton thinks that Phil Coulson is a ninja. They say it takes one to know one and Clint Barton is a fucking ninja.

 

He arrives in New Mexico with the rest of cavalry, the past two hundred miles having been spent bickering with Sitwell who wouldn’t let him drive. Barton can’t get out of the car fast enough; give him wide open spaces and a fucking big crater and this more like it.

 

“It’s not where I’d’ve chosen to build a holiday home, sir.”

Coulson doesn’t jump even though Barton knows that his approach was silent.  As ever, Barton briefly entertains the idea of examining the back of Coulson’s head for a second pair of eyes. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing he’s encountered in this job. He sighs and moves out to the very edge of the crater. S.H.I.E.L.D. contractors are well on their way to constructing a base here, with the perimeter fence already erected and everyone swarming about like sluggish ants.

 

“That’s not authorised uniform, Barton.”

  
Barton glances down at his hooded sweatshirt, emblazoned with the NYU logo, and shrugs. “It was the closest thing to hand when the call came through.” He pauses. He is an archer and he knows the meaning of a loaded silence, drawn taut like a bowstring. “Why did the call come through, sir?”

 

“It was felt that an operative of your particular expertise might be useful here.”

 

Barton balances on the balls of his feet and takes a deep breath, narrowing his eyes. He’s got the measure of everyone in the crater by now, including the two workmen sneaking a cigarette behind a truck.  He doesn’t have to look at Coulson to know he’s still unwinding from babysitting Tony Stark. Coulson is some sort of black hole for stress; no amount of bad news appears to phase him but Barton knows that he’s not immune to tension. Coulson’s jaw is slightly clenched as he surveys the crater.

 

“I’m not sure I quite understand.” Barton doesn’t. Not really. This is just some field trip so the scientists can scan, poke at and otherwise analyse a funny-shaped rock.  

 

Coulson’s lips purse together and no explanations are forthcoming. Barton doesn’t complain; it’s nice to get out of HQ from time to time even if it was one hell of a road trip. Sitwell didn’t even let him pick the music.

 

“Agent Sitwell said that you created a disturbance at a gas station on the way down here.”

 

“That’s not quite accurate.” Barton folds his arms; he is a wall of defiance.

 

“Did you or did you not climb onto the roof of the gas station?”

“Yes, sir,” says Barton, with only a mild emphasis on the _sir_. “I wanted to stretch my legs.”

 

“On the roof of a gas station?

“Yes, sir.”

“With your bow.”

 

”Yes, sir. In my defence, I didn’t know the place had been held up yesterday. I mean, what are the chances?”

 

Coulson is largely impassive.  Barton suspects that he’s contemplating disciplinary measures and whether they’re worth the inevitable paperwork. “Get set up, Barton. We’re expecting visitors.”

 

Barton tips Coulson a lazy salute, a finger touched to his eyebrow.  Looking over the edge again, he launches forward, though the drop is nearly vertical.  There are footholds, though, and he conducts his descent at speed, with nary a foot wrong.

 

He reaches the bottom, landing pretty damned smoothly, in a whisper of dust and there’s a murmur of surprise from a passing contractor, and his earpiece crackles. He’s expecting high scores for technical merit and artistic impression after that flawless display of agility.

 

“And Barton? Regulation uniform. “

 

Barton looks back up and grins widely, shielding his eyes from the glaring sun. From here, he can see the merest curve on Coulson’s cheek.  He’d bet that it’s the closest Coulson’s come to smiling all day.

 

§

 

That evening, the huge blonde guy infiltrates the base armed only with the sort of swagger that Clint can’t help but admire. It makes the pads of his fingers itch and his bow doesn’t sing in the driving rain. Coulson’s orders and Barton’s not feeling too mutinous today.

 

When he’s down from the Nest and his bow is safely stowed, he goes to find Coulson. It’s pretty funny that a few agents still give him a wide berth and he wasn’t even the one kicking their asses today. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are like elephants, though. They never forget even if they seem to have overlooked the most important part: Clint Barton has perfected the art of hiding in plain sight. He's at his most dangerous when no one knows he's there and when he's strolling through the drafty tunnels, he's the least of their worries

The moment to worry about Barton is when he’s out of sight. Take the blonde giant; he was so fixated on the hammer that there was no way he knew that Barton could have taken him out in the blink of an eye. Coulson’s orders, though. The story of Barton’s life.

 

When he slips into Coulson’s makeshift office, he is greeted by a perfectly dry Phil Coulson. Barton is still dripping wet and Coulson hands him a towel.

 

“How do you do it?” he asks, a little mesmerized that in the space of five minutes Coulson has gone from drowned rat to suave agent.

 

“As a rule, I put my shirt on _before_ my suit jacket and I pretty much take it from there.”

 

Barton holds the towel, folding it over in his hands, and he’s about to open his mouth but Coulson touches a finger to his own lips. Fucking open comms and hidden cameras and surveillance and everything that oppresses Barton’s ninja sensibilities.

 

Barton wants to rip off his wire but he has a tendency of breaking small, delicate pieces of electronic equipment with minimal effort. Destruction of S.H.I.E.L.D. property does result in disciplinary action, as he’s learned to his cost. He scowls instead. This is why he and Coulson don’t get assigned together often. There is something about fraternization and morale – even though ops with Coulson are basically the best thing ever - and there is that curve on Coulson’s cheek and the slightest upturning of the corners of his mouth like he can read Barton’s mind.

 

“I’ve got to go interrogate our guest. Do try to stay out of trouble, Barton.”

 

“Sir-?”

Coulson pauses, with his hand on the door.

 

“Yes, Barton?”

“I just gotta say.” Barton frowns faintly because, under any other circumstances in any other job, he’d sound pretty crazy. “We’ve got a hammer and a big blonde dude and a whole fucking lot of rain and lightning and thunder.” He’s not sure he can quite voice his suspicions that they’re dealing with an actual god of thunder – _the_ God of Thunder – but he knows what he saw today.

 

Another ghost of a smile; it’s Coulson’s equivalent of a belly laugh. “Now you see why we needed you down here, Clint.”

 

§

 

“You let him go, sir.”

 

Barton watches as the big Swedish guy drives away with the big Norse guy. This is several shades of fucked-up and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t need to tell Coulson that.

 

“Do you want to go for a drink?”

 

Barton thinks he must have misheard. “Aren’t there rules about that sort of thing, Coulson?”

 

“That’s not what I meant.” Coulson nods in the direction of the departing car. “I want you to keep an eye on those two.”

“You’re sure they’re going to a bar?” Barton doesn’t like to doubt Coulson and he knows the guy’s a fucking Sherlock Holmes-type when it comes to putting seemingly random pieces of information together.

 

Coulson’s expression remains bland. “What else is there to do in that town?”

Barton shrugs. “Good point, sir.” And then a thought. “Do I get to drive?”

 

§

 

When Barton reports to Coulson, it’s late and there are far fewer agents on-site. The scientists and computer nerds have all untwisted their panties now that the interference from earlier in the day has passed and they could go back to diverting planes and whatever else it is that they do in these situations.

 

Coulson is standing on the raised platform, looking at the hammer.

 

“It was the immovable object and the irresistible force.”

“I’ve heard that one before, Coulson.”

Barton stands next to Coulson; it is his place, after all. His elbow lightly touches Coulson’s arm.

 

“Did you learn anything?”

 

“Ah. Scandinavians and their deities can’t hold their liquor?” Barton screws up his face. “And you sent me to the sort of bar that plays Pat Benatar in a totally non-ironic way.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes, sir. Love is a Battlefield.”

 

Their elbows still brush lightly. It’s not nearly enough but Barton will make do. His voice is lower when he speaks again. “You should get some sleep, Phil. It’s this pretty awesome thing when you lie down and close your eyes and –”

 

“ _Thank you_ , Barton. Maybe you should think of sleeping, too.”

 

Barton grins and shakes his head. “Hell, no, sir. I don’t trust these security guys after what happened today. I’m heading back up top.”

 

When Coulson smiles, it’s an actual smile and it makes the skin around his eyes crinkle. He doesn’t need to say it; Barton knows this is why he was recruited for this op.

 

He walks away. “Goodnight, sir.”

 

“Goodnight, Barton.”

 

§

 

When he’s up in the Nest again, Barton wonders that it should be this difficult. They’re in the same compound, for once, and they might as well be in different worlds. Actually, that's not quite right. Different worlds would suck and at least, this way, he knows that Coulson is perfectly safe.

 

§

 

Somehow, the op is deemed a success. Barton isn’t sure what definition is being used here but a town got partially demolished and the God of Thunder took his friends back to outer space and, at any minute, Coulson’s probably going to be summoned back to wrangle Tony Stark.

 

He’d ask Coulson out for a drink – an end-of-mission celebration – but the bar was collateral damage. He’d stay while Coulson conducts a few dozen debriefing sessions but Sitwell is either unaware or a damned good actor. Maybe he’s been taking lessons on maintaining a perfect poker face from Coulson but the guy can be pretty inscrutable when he wants to be.

 

Either way, Barton finds himself back in the passenger seat of Sitwell’s car and he’s not even allowed keep his bow with him after the gas station incident.

 

Sitwell says that not even Barton can sulk all the way to New York. Barton has two thousand miles of dusty road and boring air travel to prove him wrong.

 

§

 

Clint Barton has always said that Phil Coulson is a fucking ninja. That’s why the man is in the apartment when Clint gets home, sitting on the couch, bare feet on the coffee table, and wearing his NYU hooded sweatshirt.

 

“I’m not going to ask how you got here first,” he says, sinking down onto the couch.

 

“You’d be better off asking how I got the evening off,” says Phil and it is some sort of miracle, really.

 

Clint runs a fingertip up and down the inside seam of Phil’s jeans just to make him shiver. They kiss.

 

“The Avenger Initiative is a certainty,” says Phil quietly.

  
Clint’s hand stills. He doesn’t want to sulk; not after his masterful cross-country heroics in that field but he has a sneaking suspicion that Phil's going to tell him that he's being shipped out to Siberia and they're not going to see each other for months.

 

“Director Fury will want to talk to you.” Phil is dogged and determined. “You’ve been recommended for inclusion on the team.”

 

Clint is silent.

“Hawkeye is an invaluable asset,” says Phil. His tone is firm.

 

“You’re only saying that because I’m less temperamental than Stark.”

 

Phil makes a sound in the back of his throat that may not actually be agreement.

 

“Or else Sitwell’s put in another complaint and now you’re officially the only agent who’ll work with me.”

Phil inclines his head like that’s closer to the truth but then he laughs and it is always such a sweet, surprising sound that Clint forgets what he was going to say and thinks maybe he should just kiss Phil again and perhaps that’s Phil’s super-power (and Tony Stark is never allowed to find out).


End file.
